It could be spring. The morning fog still clings to delicate leaves as the sun burns it away. The sun this morning is as bright as the sun on a mid March morning. But it is autumn, the changing maples attest to that, their leaves turning vermillion in the bright sun.

The recent rains have revived the moss in the woods. No matter how dry and withered they get during the rainless summer, all it takes is a few gentle rains for the moss to plump up and turn into the softest of down.

In the garden, the young ducklings are nearly grown ducks. Their peeping is turning into loud quacking. It takes just one duck to make a ruckus. With this many ducks, I won’t be able to take a step outside without every creature around knowing it.